Puck You
by Jah Rastafari
Summary: What do you get when two badasses collide?  A big mess, that's what.
1. Chapter 1

One: The Locker

Jameela slumped back in her chair, her hands dug into the pockets of her shorts as her new principal droned on. The big-nosed, balding Pakistani man smiled at Jameela, his hands folded on the desk top.

"I'm very glad to welcome you to William McKinley High," he continued, nodding like one of those dogs people kept on their dashboards. "I hope you find yourself more comfortable here than you did at the Academy."

Jameela grimaced at the mention of her last school. Jane Addams Academy for troubled female youth. She'd officially finished her 'sentence' at the school and was ready for regular schooling again. To be unleashed upon the masses, per say. It was her second 'bout of freedom – the last one hadn't worked to well. Then again, 'borrowing' a teacher's car and beating the snot outta a football player was never a good way to start a term. After another trip to juvie, six more months at Jane Addams and a summer's worth of anger management classes, she was ready for another try at normality.

Jameela yawned and shrugged her shoulders, slouching more in her seat.

"Yeah Figgins, whatever. Look, can I go now?" She asked, flicking a dreadlock over her shoulder. Realizing the attitude was a bad idea, she slapped a smile on her face. Offending the head teacher was never a good way to start off. "You don't want me to be late on my first day, do you?"

Figgins nodded enthusiastically, seemingly unaware of Jameela's hostility.

"That's the spirit!" He exclaimed, smiling eagerly, his eyes bulging slightly. "Turning over a new leaf! You'll do well at this school, Ms. Tora!"

Jameela gave an appropriation of a smile – this guy was really starting to freak her out – and pushed herself out of the chair she had been sitting in. She picked her scuffed messenger bag off the floor and slung it over her shoulder, Bob Marley side out.

Continuing to smile and nod, Figgins ushered Jameela out as she pulled on her beanie, telling her to 'have a good day and collect your planner from Mrs. David in the front office.'

Slouching out into the office, Jameela muttered a few words to the previously mentioned Mrs. David, and was given a planner and a jumble of papers in reply. She dumped the planner into her bag without a second look, and eyed the timetable for a moment before stuffing that in there two. She walked out of the office, reading the map. Her locker was marked on it in red.

"Here goes nothing'," Jameela muttered, pulling her headphones up over her ears and folding up the map. She slipped it into the breast pocket of her blue plaid shirt, which lay unbuttoned over a white Run DMC shirt, sleeves rolled to her elbows. Jameela had already decided she wasn't going to be that pathetic new kid that wandered around with a map thrust under their nose – she was gonna play it cool.

She slipped her hands into her pockets as she stalked out into the crowded hallways, loud drum n' bass thrumming in her ears, her 'bitch, please, talk to me and I will cut you' scowl fixed on her face. She strode towards her locker, her skin tingling uncomfortably with the feeling of all those eyes watching her.

She couldn't hear what people were saying over the music in her ears. But she knew it was about her – it was obvious, the way they were looking at her and whispering behind their hands. Obviously, they had been told of her arrival – the words 'Jane Addams' and 'crazy' on the lips of those who had not shielded their mouths told her this.

_Fuck them,_ She thought, allowing herself a vicious thought before calming herself down again.

Approaching her new locker, her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of the group of jocks, picked out by their letterman jackets, standing around the locker next to hers, effectively blocking her path to her own.

"Oh great," She grumbled as she walked over. The sound of her approach made them look up, their conversation ceasing, surprised expressions on their faces. Obviously, chicks that weren't desperate sluts didn't approach them that often.

The only one who didn't look confused was the both the tallest and the best looking. Nice tan, broad shoulders, hard body, hazel eyes. Very nice. But his suffocating air of cockiness overrode his attractiveness.

_And he has a stupid haircut,_ Jameela thought vehemently, eyeing his Mohawk with a look of distaste.

"'Scuse me," She muttered, turning her dark-eyed scowl on the two letterman wearing douche bags that stood in front of her locker. "I gotta get to my locker. Could ya move?"

"That ain't yo' locker," The scowl-wearing minion said, looking her straight in the eye. He was the same height as Jameela – just making six foot, maybe a tiny bit over. He stood with his hands in his pockets, leaning against Jameela's locker.

"Yeah, it is. Now haul ass, before I kick it between your ears." Jameela wasn't messing around. Sure, she kept her tone smooth and casual, but the expression on her face and the arms folded across her chest said she was sorely pissed. She wasn't taking any shit today, and she was makin' sure this jackass knew it.

A chorus of 'ooooh's followed her statement, from both the jocks and a few of the braver observers. The flaxen haired male bristled at this – his expression of amused irritation turned to one of anger.

"Is that a threat, bitch?" He growled, pushing off the locker and taking a step forward, bringing himself within striking distance of Jameela. "'Cause lemme tell you – I ain't afraid of hittin' a girl. Especially a smartass whore that deserves it."

"So you hit your own mother, you mean?"

Another chorus of 'oooooh's and a growl from the blonde.

"Bitch. What did you just say?"

"So you're deaf now, as well as stupid? Do you need me to explain my clever little insult to you? Well, basically I insinuated that your mother is a smartass whore, quote unquote. You copy now?"

Jameela was actually starting to enjoy this. Watching this idiot slowly tick towards boiling point was extremely entertaining, and the fact that she was the cause gave her a huge sense of self-pride. Her moment of contemplation was cut short as the idiot suddenly lunged for her with a roar.

_Now this was more like it_.

Jameela ducked before his fist could make contact with her face, and slammed her ring-bearing hand into his stomach. _Hard_. The air in the jock's lungs forced its way out with a gasp, and the guy staggered forward, choking on the lack of air. Jameela lunged towards him as he went to turn, but was cut short by a tug on her arm that nearly pulled it out of its socket. She turned to hit whoever had grabbed her, but a large warm hand wrapped around her wrist, cutting her strike short.

"Cool it, Marley. Mr. Schue's comin'. Don't want to get busted on your first day, do ya?" Mohawk kept his grip on her wrists as he spoke, hazel eyes serious. Gone were the cocky grin and the casual air. He was the only one of his little group that wasn't wearing a letterman jacket – only a simple white shirt. A simple white shirt that clung to his annoyingly perfect chest and arms.

"Why do you care?" Jameela growled, checking over her shoulder to make sure she wasn't going to be attacked from behind. The jock she had insulted was being restrained by one of his friends, still trying to catch his breath.

"'Cuz I'll get pinned for startin' this," Mohawk growled, releasing one on her wrists as a butt-chinned teacher approached.

"Puck! What's going on here?" The man asked, furrowing his brow at Mohawk.

_Puck? What the hell were his parents smoking when they named him Puck?_

"Nothin' Mr. Schue. We're just getting… acquainted with the new student." Mohaw– _Puck_ said casually, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly as he leaned back against his locker, releasing Jameela's other wrist.

Jameela pulled her arm back to her side, shaking the assortment of bracelets that hung on her wrist – a scuffed leather cuff, a few beaded hemp bracelets and a few friendship ones, most made from rasta coloured thread. She leveled her gaze to this Mr. Schue - What kind of name was that anyway? – and quirked an eyebrow slightly.

"Is that right?" Mr. Schue asked, looking to Jameela. He stared at her a moment before introducing himself. "I'm Mr. Schuester, but everyone calls me Mr. Schue. I teach Spanish and I'm the director of the Glee club." He offered with a smile, extending a hand.

Jameela nodded and shook it firmly, before retiring her hand to her pocket.

"You're the girl from Jane Addams, right?" Mr. Schue continued.

"That's me," Jameela replied with a sigh. "I'm Jameela Tora and I'll be you resident reformed delinquent for the rest of the year."

Mr. Schue smiled.

"Well if you ever want to try something fun… as a positive outlet for your anger, come see me and the rest of Glee club. If you like music, it'd be good for you!" And with that he walked off, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"Well that was fucking weird," Jameela muttered, staring after him for a moment before going to her locker, ignoring Puck, who was watching Jameela with a raised brow.

"Jane Addams, huh Marley?" He said, glancing at her. "You're pretty badass, I take it."

Shoving a few things into her locker, Jameela slammed the door and glared at Puck.

"You bet it, _Fuck_. I have no problems with beating the shit outta you, so you better watch yourself. And if you ever lay your hands on me again, I'll see that you lose them." She hissed, her face inches from his.

Puck noted the stud in her left nostril and the scar in her eyebrow absently, his eyes flicking from them to her chocolate irises, which were narrowed, long lashes almost zipping her eyes shut.

After glaring at him for a moment, Jameela re-shouldered her bag and stalked around him, calling over her shoulder: "And get a real damn haircut, douchebag!"

Puck's mouth fell open slightly as he watched her stalk away, the crowds of students parting like they were the red sea and she was Moses.

Mike stepped up next to Puck, grinning broadly.

"I think you have some competition, _Fuck_." He said, using Jameela's new nickname for the left tackle.

Puck's eyes darted to the lanky Asian boy, who thankfully, was alone. Rutherford was probably already in class, like the good little dork he was.

"Shut it Chang." Puck growled and stormed off, leaving Mike laughing his head off.


	2. Chapter 2

Two: Spanish Knowing Bastard

Jameela slouched into English, handing her teacher a slip of paper before digging her hands back into her pockets.

"Oh, so you're new, are you? Well seeing as you are, I won't hold your lateness against you. After all, it is your first day." The man said, frowning up at Jameela from his desk.

"Gee, how nice. Thanks." Jameela grumbled, returning the dark look.

"Well seeing as you're up the front, you can introduce yourself to the class. And take your hat off." He added, returning his eyes to the lap top open on his desk.

Muttering darkly, Jameela turned to look at the class, all of whom had looked up from various conversations to stare at the late arrival.

"What?" Jameela asked standoffishly, scowling. "I'm Jameela. Got a problem?"

_Way to go man,_ the little voice in her head said as she made her way to an empty seat near the back. _Great first impression._

She slammed herself down into the seat, dropping her bag on the floor and tearing her beanie off. She shook out her dreads and slumped back in her chair, tipping her head back.

_Drama queen._

_Shut up._

_You shut up._

Jameela heard the classroom door open again, Mr. Burton mutter a few words, footsteps and then the slap of an ass being dropped into a seat.

Running her fingers through her locks, she lifted her head and straightened up a little before digging in her bag and pulling out a notebook and a couple of chewed on pens. Picking one up, she tapped it on the front cover of her notebook, casting a casual glance around the room.

Looking absently to her left, her chocolate eyes met a pair of grey blue ones, which were staring very intently in her direction.

"What?" Jameela repeated, scowling at the owner of those eyes – a pale skinned, well dressed boy with hair that must've taken at least twenty minutes to sculpt. The porcelain complexion alone made her gaydar go off, not to mention the expensive wardrobe and the beautiful hair.

"Oh, not very friendly. But I'd just like to say that you have the most _amazing_ facial structure I have ever seen. Seriously."

Yup. The voice confirmed it.

"Well… Uh, thanks." Jameela replied, rubbing one cheek self-consciously. She attempted a smile, but gave up on it pretty quick – just because she was being polite didn't mean she needed to smile.

"You're welcome. I'm Kurt. Kurt Hummel," the Armani-wearing boy said, his pink lips pulling up in a smile.

"Jameela Tora." Jameela replied.

"Oh, I know who you are. I think you might regret insulting Noah and his friends the way you did." Kurt said with a knowing smile, ignoring the scowl of Mr. Burton, who was looking at them pointedly from where he sat at the front of the room.

"Noah? Who's Noah?" Jameela asked quietly, tilting her head to the side slightly, her thick thatch of dreads falling over her shoulder.

"Noah Puckerman… People call him Puck." Kurt explained, tapping his pen on his desktop.

"Oh, right. _Fuck_."

"Fuck? That's clever of you." Kurt's words were laced with sarcasm.

"Oh suck it, pretty boy. How do you know about the whole me threatening ugly thing? It was only like, ten minutes ago." Jameela asked, her eyebrows scrunching together.

"Don't forget the punching Cranston in the gut thing. Kudos to you on that, by the way. Word travels fast here – incredibly so. It probably doesn't help that Mike Chang is the biggest loudmouth about stuff like this."

"Who?"

Kurt sighed and pointed subtly to a lanky looking Asian boy two aisles over. He grinned at Jameela when she turned to look. Jameela scowled as she looked back to Kurt, who just smiled.

"I think I'll grow to like you, Lala."

"Don't fuckin' call me Lala." Jameela growled, slapping open her notebook and picking up a pen. She looked to the board, where several paragraphs had been written, obviously for the class to copy down.

_I fuckin' hate this already._

How Jameela dragged herself through four periods without punching someone was anyone's guess. She sure as hell didn't know. All she knew was that if she didn't get some food soon, she was going to snap.

Jameela stalked into the cafeteria, hands jammed into pockets, her shoulders sloped a little. Just as she had expected, at least half the room turned to look at her. Ignoring the stares she headed to the food queue,.

Obviously these kids didn't get fresh meat this often.

Or they'd never seen someone who'd stared a fight on their first day.

Or maybe they just wanted to see the girl who'd punched a fat douche in the gut.

Whatever.

Collecting her meal – which was made up of a sandwich, an apple and a bag of potato chips, seeing as you're asking – she turned to look at the cafeteria, searching for an empty table.

"Lala! Hey! Lala!"

Jameela's eyes traveled to Kurt, who was waving her over to a semi-full table. She stomped over and dumped her tray on the table.

"Kurt. What the fuck have I told you about calling me Lala?"

She slapped her butt down onto the bench, beside Kurt.

"I think it's cute."

"Well it fuckin' ain't. Now ain't you gonna introduce me to your nice friends here?" Jameela grumbled, eyeing Kurt for a moment before turning her gaze on the rest of the table.

Kurt sighed dramatically, before reeling off names.

"This is Mercedes," He gestured to a black girl, whose skin was a shade or two different to Jameela's.

He named a round-cheeked Asian girl as Tina, a dark haired, brown-eyed girl as Rachel. The kid in the wheelchair was Artie, and the guy with his arm around Rachel's shoulders was Finn.

"And you already know Mike." Kurt finished, nodding firmly.

Mike grinned at Jameela, who stuck her tongue out at him.

"'Sup guys. I'm Jameela."

"Oh, we know who you are." Mercedes said, smiling.

Jameela sighed.

"I'm really starting to hate that, y'know?" She grumbled, unwrapping her sandwich and taking a bite.

Kurt laughed, and started chattering to Mercedes, leaving Jameela to eat her sandwich in peace. She didn't say much during her first lunch break at McKinley – she concentrated her efforts on eating, offering the odd word when prompted.

She said a few casual good-byes as she left the cafeteria, waving her fingers in Mercedes' direction before heading down the hall to Spanish. Wrenching open the door, about to step inside, someone shoulder barged Jameela, nearly knocking her face first into the wall of lockers.

"What the fuck man!" Jameela gasped, catching herself in time and turning to see who the douchebag was. She wasn't half surprised to see Noah Puckerman grinning down at her.

"Bitch," She hissed, drawing herself up to her full height. She was still a few inches shorter than Puck, but the anger emanating from her made him take a step back. "Who the _fuck _do you think you are?"

"The hottest player in Ohio." He answered, trying to sound casual as he stuck his hands in his pockets.

Jameela narrowed her eyes at him, hissed a long string of curses and stormed into the classroom, slamming the door behind her, nearly squishing Puckerman's hand in the process.

The class was still half empty – Jameela hurried to a seat at the back, avoiding the looks of her new classmates. She recognized a few faces, but had no names to go with them.

She sat just as the door was opened again and Puckerman swaggered in, having recovered from the surprise of having a door slammed in his face. He shot a grin at Jameela as he sat down next to her, and Jameela raised her middle finger in reply.

"¡clase buenas tardes!" Mr. Schue exclaimed as he breezed into the class room, a book and a sheaf of papers under one arm.

"Buenas tardes, señor." The class parroted back. Jameela had a very loose grasp on formal Spanish. She had lived in a mainly Hispanic neighbourhood for several years, so she had a wide vocabulary of less than appropriate Spanish words and slang, but no real knowledge of the language. She did, however, have enough sense to copy the rest of the class.

She pulled out her notebook as Mr. Schue prattled on in Spanish, digging a whiteboard marker out of his desk drawer and beginning to write on the board. Another problem – Jameela could read jack shit in Spanish.

"Oh god, I'm screwed." She grumbled under her breath, tipping her head back.

"¡Ah, Jameela! Usted está en mi clase. Chicos, esta es nuestra nueva estudiante Jameela Tora." Mr. Schue said, gesturing to Jameela. " ¿Hablas mucho español, Jameela?"

Jameela forced a smile as she looked up, and shrugged.

"Un poco," She replied, tapping her fingers on the desk.

"¡Muy bien! Estoy seguro de que va a hacer bien en esta clase." Mr. Schue announced cheerfully, grinning. He paused for a moment, before turning back to the board. "Ustedes que copiar este hacia abajo, luego se emparejan y ponerse a trabajar en la hoja de cálculo."

Jameela sighed and began copying down the stuff that was written on the board.

"Psst. Psssst! Marley!"

Jameela's head jerked up, her eyes narrowing.

"_Fuck._ What do you want?" She growled, as Puck grinned at her.

"You look like you need some help. I'll be your partner." He said, his grin turning into a mildly suggestive smirk.

"No." Jameela replied bluntly, keeping her face and voice calm.

"Well actually, I kinda have to. There's no one else for you to partner with, seeing as they're all scared of you. And they're scared of me, too." He retorted, his smirk growing.

Jameela groaned, slapping her face into her palm.

"Fuck me," She muttered.

"Well, I'm sure we can arrange something," Puck replied smugly.

_Well I walked into that one_, Jameela thought, her eyebrows drawing together.

"Not if you were the last guy on earth." She answered, shooting a scowl at him as she examined the work sheet she was to be sharing with Puckerman, a scowl on her face. Something about… Conjunctions and Verb forms? She couldn't be certain.

"Screw this," She grumbled, dropping it down onto the desk again and tapping her pen against the pale table top. She ignored the snort of mirth from Puckerman, propping her cheek on her right fist, the rings she wore digging into the soft skin of her cheek.

"Jeez, this stuff ain't that hard, Marley." Noah said, his amusement clear in his voice.

"I don't know much Spanish," Jameela retorted dully, swiveling her head to look at Puckerman. "Got a problem with that, Fuck?"

Noah sighed, frowning a little.

"Kill the attitude, Marley. I'mma help you." He said, shifting his desk over a little.

Jameela thought for a moment before pushing her desk to join with his, just like the other pairs had. Puck nodded and began explaining what the sentences meant in a whisper, leaning towards Jameela a little, pointing to words with the end of his pen as he explained the meaning.

_Now this is getting weird._

**A/N:**

**Just a quick word - this is set at the beginning of season two. Matt hasn't left, though. (:**

**Please excuse my horrendous Spanish.**

**Feel free to make suggestions on how to better it.**_  
_


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